Tarnon was astonished by the large library in Halbarad’s chamber. If only I could read, bugger it…
But the fortress was full of other surprises.
There was another, hidden road to Esteldín… It was not a secret, but it was so well hidden, that the enemy could not be aware of it. And of course there were Ranger guards in the forest near the path entrance.
The road was leading east, through a narrow pass in the mountain ridge. It has made Esteldin even more strategic point of all the region.
From the highest point Tarnon could see the wide eastern plain of Nan Amlug. His mission was leading him to strange giant beings called Earth-kin.
Their village was situated in a gorge on the eastern slopes of the Esteldín hills, but it was visible from afar. Poles with stretched animal furs were looming before the entrance.
It is quite disturbing to walk among beings two feet higher than you. The giants were very slender and looked a bit clumsy, with their disproportionally long limbs. But their javelins looked sharp and Tarnon didn’t doubt a moment, that Earth-kin are exactly the opposite – limber and fast.
This tribe was peaceful and serene. But their leader, Asikko, revealed to Tarnon, that other tribes inhabit Nan Amlug and they are not welcoming, attacking anything in their territory.
Fetching some artifacts and getting back alive – that was the goal of the day. Simple. But soon Tarnon found out, that the plains were swarming with wargs and already mentioned hostile earth-kin. And they were damn good trackers. Tarnon was no fool and he improved his sneaking skill long since.
But after some time he found himself fleeing from three of the giants pursuing him.
Bugger it, damn wildlings. He ran to the southwest where trees seemed to be thicker. After a few miles of exhausting chase, the giant hunters were still after him. They were slower than him, but persistent.
Plains were replaced with low hills and Tarnon was starting to lose his breath. He was running, keeping in shadows of trees but otherwise not so inconspicuous as he would wish. The south direction seemed good so far…
Oh no. Just between hammer and anvil. He spotted a large orc encampment within half a mile ahead.
Of course, where are wargs, are the scumbags.
But a moving, gasping target is simple to spot even by stupid, lazy orc scum. Clash was inevitable. He drew his daggers and stopped to catch a bit of air before the fight.
Two orcs with clubs and one with bow were running to him, snorting and laughing. The two would not be a problem, under normal circumstances.
Tarnon waited until last moment, when first attacker reached to five, six feet. Then it began.
Sidestep, somersault, jab, somersault back, cut and stab, stand on feet. One orc was falling down in blood.
The other orc turned, confused by victim’s quickness. He swinged to Tarnon with his club, but the rogue stopped the weapon with crossed daggers. An arrow swished by.
Tarnon kicked the second close-range warrior in the belly and pushed away the club. The orc lost balance a bit, and that was the right moment for Tarn to double stab.
A sound of metal thrusting through leather armor into meat was clearly audible. But in was Tarnon’s armour and meat.
An arrow skewered his thigh and made him stagger. The orc growled, happy about turning of the chances. He swung the club in the air, just to show advantage and supremacy.
Tarnon needed to be quick. He shivered in pain, noway about another somersault. He quickly made a few hurting steps back. Biting his lip he broke the arrow shaft as close to his leg as possible. The attacking orc was deadly grinning, gesturing to the supporting archer a soon victory. The distant orc answered with another arrow, that swished just a few inches before Tarnon’s face.
A flash of despair overwhelmed Tarn, but only for eye’s wink. Then he clenched his teeth and woke up his ire. Overcoming the pain in the leg, he strode forward in a series of cuts and jabs. The attacker didn’t of course expect such retaliation and was badly cut on forearms and chest. Alas, not as deadly as it was meant. The orc counterattacked and hit Tarnon hard in the shoulder, but it was supposed to be in the head. Still it was enough to strike Tarnon down. He rolled over on the ground to get out of range.
Deep shit…
“Come on, you dirtbags!” Loud, infuriating cry cut through the air. A cry coming from another mouth, a human one. Both Tarnon and the attackers looked in the direction of the sound.
A black-haired man was quickly striding towards the attacking orcs. He didn’t look very special - weathered hauberk, shabby leggings, large hammer with long and worn shaft in hands. But it was his attitude, his tenacious look and firm pacing, that made the orcs doubt about sure victory. And three steps behind him followed a woman with a spear and cold, ruthless face.
“Are you hungry? I will feed you with your own teeth. Who goes first?” shouted the man, already twenty feet from the orc archer. The orc put another arrow on bowstring and raised the bow, stretching to aim. But in the meantime the man started to sprint. He almost reached the archer before he could release the arrow. Almost… Suddenly a swish came from aside, Tarnon’s throwing dagger hit the bow-orc in the belly.
The hammer landed the very next moment, breaking the bow and several ribs. The strike knocked the orc on the ground.
The woman warrior flanked the archer firstly, but now she’d rather made busy the incoming orc warrior. The long spear had advantage over the club. She hit the attacker slightly two times, until the man came to help her. The hammer fulfilled the promise about feeding, thus finishing the fight.
As Tarnon raised from dirt, the pair approached him.
“Only the leg?” asked the man simply. He overlooked Tarnon quickly.
Tarnon nodded.
“Great timing of coming. Thanks, man. But there are yet two Earth-kin giants pursuing me.”
Tarnon’s raspy voice tone surprised the man, as well as the situation. He raised eyebrows.
“Boy, it seems you’ve talent to piss someone off. Can you stand at least for a few minutes? To pretend you are at full strength?”
“Aye. I will hold.”
With such reinforcement, the little group was able to chase away the hostile hunters nearly without a fight.
Now it was finally time to talk.
“Boy, you’re either fool or brave, to venture so far,” said the hammer-wielder.
“Seems like you too, old man.”
“Hey…” said the man angrily. Then he stopped and laughed. “You’re right.”
Then he reached out his hand. “By the way, I’m Kortheod.”
“Tarnon.”
Kortheod also introduced his girl warrior, Plusheila, who was afflicted by voicelessness. They both joined Tarnon, who was now hobbling to a healer to Esteldín.
On the way, Tarnon learned, that Kor came from Rohan. He too accepted some tasks from the Rangers. He mentioned a few of their names, but only Daervunn was familiar to Tarn. Otherwise Kor didn’t reveal much about himself. He spoke in short sentences, like a pragmatic person who is not used to big speeches. He had a slight feel of a soldier or maybe officer, but without bossing around or superiority. Tarn felt a bit grief from him, but a lot more of strong determination.
The fact, that they have saved each other’s life was silently accepted and understood without words. An alliance started unspoken.
In this dark war it was more than needed.
